Afterward he listened for a moment to the faintly tumultuous snores of the white men sleeping in rows, with their heads under the break of the poop.  Somewhere about his feet, the yacht’s black dog, invisible, and chained to a deck-ringbolt, whined, rattled the thin links, pattered with his claws in his distress at the unfamiliar surroundings, begging for the charity of human notice.  Carter stooped impulsively, and was met by a startling lick in the face.—­“Hallo, boy!” He thumped the thick curly sides, stroked the smooth head—­“Good boy, Rover.  Down.  Lie down, dog.  You don’t know what to make of it—­do you, boy?” The dog became still as death.  “Well, neither do I,” muttered Carter.  But such natures are helped by a cheerful contempt for the intricate and endless suggestions of thought.  He told himself that he would soon see what was to come of it, and dismissed all speculation.  Had he been a little older he would have felt that the situation was beyond his grasp; but he was too young to see it whole and in a manner detached from himself.  All these inexplicable events filled him with deep concern—­but then on the other hand he had the key of the magazine and he could not find it in his heart to dislike Lingard.  He was positive about this at last, and to know that much after the discomfort of an inward conflict went a long way toward a solution.  When he followed Shaw into the cabin he could not repress a sense of enjoyment or hide a faint and malicious smile.

“Gone away—­did you say?  And carried off the lady with him?” discoursed Shaw very loud in the doorway.  “Did he?  Well, I am not surprised.  What can you expect from a man like that, who leaves his ship in an open roadstead without—­I won’t say orders—­but without as much as a single word to his next in command?  And at night at that!  That just shows you the kind of man.  Is this the way to treat a chief mate?  I apprehend he was riled at the little al-ter-cation we had just before you came on board.  I told him a truth or two—­but—­never mind.  There’s the law and that’s enough for me.  I am captain as long as he is out of the ship, and if his address before very long is not in one of Her Majesty’s jails or other I au-tho-rize you to call me a Dutchman.  You mark my words.”

He walked in masterfully, sat down and surveyed the cabin in a leisurely and autocratic manner; but suddenly his eyes became stony with amazement and indignation; he pointed a fat and trembling forefinger.

“Niggers,” he said, huskily.  “In the cuddy!  In the cuddy!” He appeared bereft of speech for a time.

Since he entered the cabin Hassim had been watching him in thoughtful and expectant silence.  “I can’t have it,” he continued with genuine feeling in his voice.  “Damme!  I’ve too much respect for myself.”  He rose with heavy deliberation; his eyes bulged out in a severe and dignified stare.  “Out you go!” he bellowed; suddenly, making a step forward.—­“Great Scott!  What are you up to, mister?” asked